


Competitive Little Shits

by Azdaema



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Brother/Sister Incest, F/F, F/M, Mostly fluff and smut, Multi, OT3, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Sibling Rivalry, Sister/Sister Incest, Wedding Night, baby's first pwp, character study (sort of?), obligatory ot3 musing on how one's partners are different than each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:40:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24442990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azdaema/pseuds/Azdaema
Summary: Visenya and Aegon are competitive little shits about virtually everything, up to and including who can make Rhaenys come more.
Relationships: Aegon I Targaryen/Rhaenys Targaryen/Visenya Targaryen
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35





	Competitive Little Shits

**Author's Note:**

> I think I promised someone on discord over a year ago that I'd write this fic, but it's been so long I honestly don't remember who it was anymore. So _to whom it way concern_ —look! I finally did it.
> 
> Everything we hear about the conquering triad is filtered 300 years of maesters, who were not cool with polygamous, incestuous, or sapphic stuff. And moreover, they weren't just biased against it, they did not _understand_ it—they could've legitimately been trying their best to be historical, but still been unable to see anything but what they expected to see, lacking the cultural context to wrap their minds around anything else. Anyways so if you take all that with a grain of salt, "happy badass power couple" seems a lot more feasible.

Storms are common on Dragonstone, but no matter how many of them she's seen in her four years, the lingering fear never quite leaves Rhaenys. During the day it's easier, the roiling thunder sending her and her siblings racing down the corridors of the keep in a fit of mad laughter, fear mixed up with delight, just like when Mama tells stories and she'll suddenly tickle Rhaenys as she speaks the line about a monster appearing.

But at night, alone in her little chamber, the thunder is too echoing, and Rhaenys is too small and solitary. And so, trembling, she makes her way to Visenya's room, tugging at the corner of her sister's quilt.

"Go back to bed, Rhaenys."

"Please?"

"Go bother Aegon."

How could he protect her from the thunder? "He's not _scary_."

Finally—with a much-beleaguered sigh—her sister scoots over, leaving a warm spot for Rhaenys.

Visenya is a _terrible_ bedmate. She spreads in all directions, possessing more pointy elbows and knees that should be possible for a person with only the usual number of limbs. Rhaenys carefully fits herself around them, cuddles up to her sister, and Visenya pushes her away, complaining that her breath tickles.

But for all that she protests, Visenya never actually sends her away. And when Aegon arrives before the night is out, seeking safe haven as well, she lets him in too.

* * *

On the night of their wedding, Aegon and Visenya go first. Rhaenys expected as much. She is the youngest, and long since accustomed to her older siblings getting the first crack at everything. And by rights, it is not unfitting—their betrothal came first, after all, and so it's only fair that their consummation should follow suit.

Rhaenys has imagined Aegon like this often enough, and while her imagination wasn't exactly accurate, she wasn't too far off. But Visenya's passion takes Rhaenys by surprise. Her sister is guarded, uncomfortable with excessive displays of emotionality—at least when expressed through words. Here, though, she seems to have no reservations. But perhaps it makes sense: Visenya is nothing if not intense, and Rhaenys has known since their childhood arms lessons that their sister is at ease with the language of the body in a way she never is with words.

Rhaenys watches them, her blood heating—with arousal, yes, but also with resentment. This might not be _unexpected_ but it is certainly _unwelcome_. This is her _wedding night_ , she is a woman grown, and yet here she is in a replay of the all-to-familiar refrain from childhood: "Not now, little Rhaenys; let the big kids go first."

But Visenya is the firstborn, and firstness is her right. She has Aegon first, and when she is done, turns around and has her hands on Rhaenys before Aegon even has a chance to catch his breath, or Rhaenys can even track what's happening.

Kissing Visenya is like the moment when Meraxes takes flight and her stomach drops away, caught between elation and terror.

Their brother looks dazed, but when he recuperates enough, he reaches for Rhaenys as well. Visenya smacks his hand away. " _No_ , valonqar," she insists, slipping a finger into Rhaenys. "Me first." She only calls him _valonqar_ when she wants to lord her seniority over him.

Rhaenys is prepared to protest on instinct—as a fellow younger sibling, this cannot be allowed to stand—but then her sister crooks her finger _just so_ , and Visenya can do as she likes.

Visenya fists her free hand in Rhaenys's hair, and she is surprised by memories of being a child, sitting before her big sister as she braided her hair with quick, strong fingers. Visenya's fingers are the same, twisting the shimmering cord in Rhaenys's stomach with rapid efficiency. It is almost too much—not the fingers, but the _eyes_ , searing into Rhaenys's own, flaying her open. One instinct urges to close them, yet when she does it lasts only seconds before she's opening them again, gasping for more.

Rhaenys comes shuttering on Visenya's fingers, and her sister has not yet finished kissing her through the aftershocks when Aegon judges Visenya's turn over. He elbows her out of her way, and—with a satisfied smirk—Visenya relents. She gestures to Aegon with a flick of her wrist, one eyebrow raised— _go on, then_ —and moves aside to watch.

Aegon kisses Rhaenys, and it feels _safe_. She had never thought about it before—that's just what kissing was like, wasn't it? But evidently not. You never appreciate the solid earth under your feet as much as you do when dismounting from dragonback. Aegon is _stable_ and he grounds her, forehead pressed against hers as he calls her "hāedar."

Then he's kissing his way down her body, over her breasts and then her navel to her core. She is loose now, not holding on for dear life, and she can breathe deeply. It's not like with Visenya where she is _pinned_ by her gaze. With Aegon she is also _contained_ , somewhat, but it's _held_.

She can't see Aegon's face now, but she _can_ see Visenya's. Rhaenys would be hard-pressed to judge if her sister was pleased or annoyed.

Laughing, Rhaenys _does_ close her eyes this time. She does not need to keep watch; she is unquestionably safe here under her brother's ministrations. He reaches for her hand, lacing their fingers together, with the other rubs little circles into the skin of her hip. Aegon is consistent, dependable as the tides. He will not let up, not even without Visenya's sharp watchful gaze.

When Rhaenys comes, Aegon finally lets up, giving Visenya a little mocking half-bow.

He is less willing to move aside than Visenya had been, and settles for gathering Rhaenys' head into his lap, carding his fingers through her hair.

When they were children, their master at arms had quickly learned that Visenya and Aegon both worked harder when their competitive streak was stoked. Unwilling to be outdone, Visenya climbs between their sister's legs and does the same. Even when Rhaenys cannot quite see her sister's eyes, she can _feel_ her scalding gaze. She tosses under it, craving more even as she seeks reprieve.

After that, Aegon has recovered enough to try to plant a child. Rhaenys is coming down from that when she sees Visenya's eyes scanning the room, landing upon a dagger.

Rhaenys gapes. " _No!_ You are not fucking me with some makeshift… _No!_ "

"I'd use the _hilt_ ," Visenya explains dismissively.

" _No!_ " Rhaenys struggles to maintain her outrage while laughing so hard.

"But—"

"No! The two of you, go work this out between yourselves. Come fuck me when it's actually _about_ me."

And so they do, and it is fearsome to watch. The truth of the matter—which Rhaenys has always known, and her siblings resist knowing—is that the two of them are both more like each other than either is like her. This is why she is the favorite of both. With each other, they are too close for comfort, chafing at their likeness. With her, there is room to breathe.

Afterwards, when Aegon reaches for her next, Rhaenys shakes her head.

He shoots a look at Visenya that can only be described as _blaming_ , and Rhaenys is laughing again as she rolls onto her side, explaining, "I'm tired."

"Once more?" Visenya tries.

Rhaenys is still laughing. "But it can't just be ‘once more.’ It would have to be _twice_ more—it _would_ , you two _know_ you wouldn't let anyone sleep if the score was uneven—and I'm _tired_ ; I don't have another two in me."

Neither Aegon nor Visenya dispute this claim. Visenya doesn't even look bashful about it, although Aegon does, slightly.

"If you two want to stay up, go ahead," Rhaenys says, with a lazy wave of her arm. "But I'm sleepy." Neither of them moves, and so she takes Aegon's arm and wraps it around her shoulders as if he were a doll, snuggling down into the bedding.

As they cocoon into each other with natural ease, Visenya remains perched at the foot of the bed. "Come _on_." Rhaenys pats the spot on the far side of her, words half-muffled against the pillow.

Visenya obeys, to her slight surprise.

Visenya is wiry, made entirely of hard bony corners. Tucking her head against Aegon's shoulder always works quite well, but with Visenya there is a collar bone pressed hard against Rhaenys's ear. As she shifts again, Visenya gripes, "Will you stop squirming?"

"Mhm." Her breast is soft, this will work.

But no, it won't apparently, because, "Will you stop breathing on me?"

"If you insist, the maester could mix you a poison, I'm sure, to cure me of this terrible need to breathe."

"You breath _tickles_ ," Visenya insists.

Rolling her eyes, Rhaenys climbs over Aegon—"Move over,"—and tucks herself into his old spot. Let him deal with this.

But this solution is no better, it seems, because then Aegon's telling Visenya, "Get your elbow out of my belly."

"This is ridiculous. I want my own bed."

"But we're _married_."

"And this will be a much happier marriage if we can all sleep at night."

"What was the point of having this extra-wide bed made, then?"

"To have somewhere to fuck you two. And it was excellent for that—not a wasted investment at all."

Rhaenys drowsily props her head up on one hand. "You would deflower a maiden and then leave before dawn?" she protests in mock horror.

"I would have to challenge you to a duel if you dishonored my sister and wife thusly," Aegon adds gravely.

"How would that even work, if she's my sister and my wife too? _But moreover_ —" she adds, cutting off Aegon as he opens his mouth for a rebuttal—"would you actually _want_ to see me at dawn, after a night of such poor rest?"

Perhaps Visenya has a point there. "...can you just stay for tonight? Go back to your own bed tomorrow, but just for tonight—just _sometimes_ —can't you stay?"

Visenya's beleaguered sigh hasn't changed one bit since they were children. As soon as she hears it, Rhaenys knows her sister is about to capitulate. "Alright. _Alright._ But I need some blanket, then—stop pulling it all to your side."


End file.
